


A Warmth in Winter

by theashie23



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-05
Updated: 2019-12-09
Packaged: 2020-04-08 07:01:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,936
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19102078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theashie23/pseuds/theashie23
Summary: After Lance is freed from Galra slavers, he’s given the choice to work in the Altean palace kitchens. Lance knows his previous life is far behind him, and all he wants now is a safe haven. But he has a secret. As events bring him closer to the prince and captain of the guard, Lance fears that this secret can get him killed. But he isn’t the only one with secrets, and with the Solstice Festival drawing nearer, the three must learn to navigate each other’s pasts.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> So this is highkey inspired by The Solstice Prince by S.J. Himes. I just finished school, so I should be able to work on this pretty regularly, but I don't want to promise anything. It's probably going to be long, so bear with me. A huge shout-out to Savy_Hare (literal-fandomtrash on tumblr) for beta-ing.

Lance could feel the water sloshing on his bare feet as the ship moved. He worried he would develop some kind of infection if the water wasn’t drained soon. An infection would be new; a break from the monotony of his life in chains. Maybe that’s what would finally do him in. He looked around at the other slaves; they seemed unconcerned by the leak. Lance couldn’t blame them. Even after only six months with his captors, it was hard to really care about something like immersion foot. Most of them had been held as slaves longer than he had—sold, bought, then sold again. He had other concerns, too. The fresh lashes on his back were a far more pressing matter to garner his attention. He could worry about the water later. His focus had to be on daily survival. Keep your head down, don’t talk back, just do as you’re told. Not that he was ever good at it. He couldn’t help but run his mouth, despite the punishment he would receive for it.

Maybe that’s why he hadn’t been sold yet—the Galra slavers hadn’t quite been able to break him. Not yet at least. Lance thought they were pretty close. He repressed a shudder thinking of the punishment he had been threatened with the night before; the clanking chains hurt his wrists. He didn’t think he could stomach Sendak forcing himself on him. Another fearful shudder tried to wrack his body again. He fought it viciously. He couldn’t show weakness; not here.

The ship stuttered to a halt around him. His body jolted, wrists tugging at the manacles around them. He looked around at the others, but they seemed just as confused as he was. Lance didn’t think they were due to make port for a while. He’d lost track of time in the months he’d been held captive, though, and his time on the ship had only made it worse. Maybe it had been longer than he thought. Or maybe the ship needed repairs. The storm that hit them last night had been pretty bad; it was entirely possible that the ship got roughed just as much as its inhabitants. He looked up at where his arms were shackled to the wall above his head. His back was alight with stinging licks of flames, he was afraid his shoulder might be dislocated, and his wrists were scraped raw and ragged. The storm had been a brutal fight between cold ocean and colder wind, with their ship caught in the middle.

It had been particularly rough for the slaves below decks. The thrashing of the ship did a number on them, chained as they were. The cuffs had cut deep into their wrists, concentrating the force of every hit the ship took. Lance saw that some people had deep purple bruises blooming on their shoulders and he knew his matched.

Lance vaguely took stock of the people around him. There were maybe fifteen or twenty of them? Lance didn’t know. The Galra were definitely bringing in more victims with each stop they made along the coast. But they were also losing a lot of people. It was hard to keep track.

Lance didn’t _want_ to keep track, and that realization almost scared him more than another round with the barbed whip did. He was slipping away. He could feel it day by day. At first he stopped caring about the mind-numbing tedium of waking in chains, being spoon fed in chains, cleaning the ship in chains. Then he stopped caring about the days sliding from weeks into months until time was little more than an inconsequential blur. Now he didn’t care to remember the people who shared this desolate existence with him.

No. Lance couldn’t let that fall away from him with everything else; it was one thing he wouldn’t let go of, the mark of his humanity. He refused to let these _slave traders_ take that from him. Lance could hold out. He _would_ hold out. They wouldn’t be chained to this ship forever. He and the other slaves were heading to an island, he’d heard. Lance could make it until then. He wasn’t sure what he would do from there, but it was something to hold onto. He just had to make it until they reached the island. He shook his wrists in his bonds for good measure. He ignored the looks he got from the others and the jolt of pain in his shoulder.

Several hours must have passed since they docked because Lance found himself dozing lightly, despite the trepidation that clung to the space surrounding them. He was startled awake by the clanging and scraping of metal. The Galra were unchaining them and hurrying them out, dragging those that weren’t complying or moving fast enough. When it was Lance’s turn, he flinched away from the person reaching for him and hurried up the stairs. Or at least, he tried to. His legs were not accustomed to stairs or hurrying and his knees buckled. The slaver he had been trying to avoid grabbed him by the hair and wrenched him the rest of the way up. Lance let out a startled yelp before he could stop himself; the Galra holding him only tightened his grip and pulled harder. Tears stung his eyes, but Lance just followed silently. Like many of the other slaves, he was clad only in breeches; the freezing night air stung his raw skin.

Once on deck Lance yanked himself free from the Galra’s grip as he forced his limbs into an upright position and stumbled after the others. He rubbed at his unchained wrists and winced. They were bloodied and raw, cut deep from months in shackles and ill-accustomed to the weightlessness of freedom. Lance began to mentally examine of the rest of his body, still moving slowly across the deck. He was weak, starved and beaten into compliance. His head throbbed and his skin was aching sharply. His bare feet scraped against the wood beneath them. Everything from his jaw to his knees was trembling. But his confusion was still the most pressing thing on his mind. Why were all the slaves being moved? _Where_ were they being moved? He couldn’t remember a time when any of the slaves were completely unchained—usually their feet at least were shackled when they were being transported or forced to do work around the ship—let alone all of them at once.

A smattering of whispers came from somewhere ahead of him before being quickly hushed. Lance glanced up from his shuffling feet. He had missed the small commotion, but the sight of the deck made him pause. His jaw fell open as he took it all in. There was debris everywhere. Frayed ropes lined the railings. Parts of the deck were cracked up in jagged shards of wood. Pushed to the side were crates of ruined food, soaked through with rain and seawater. Other harried crates of goods had already been moved to the dock. Lance didn’t know much about ships, but he was pretty sure the large, jagged stump in the middle of the deck was where the mast should have been. This was clearly why they had made port. It was a wonder they had even been able to sail to anchorage with how devastated the ship seemed to be. Looking at all of it, he wasn’t sure which had sustained worse damage: the slaves or the ship.

_CRACK._

Lance had been gaping too long. The whip hit him across his shoulders and his back arched. He kept his mouth and eyes squeezed shut, fighting off the scream that was making its way up his throat. Making noise only brought more lashes. He braced himself for the second blow.

Surprisingly, nothing came. His shoulders relaxed a bare inch and he cracked his eyes open. The Galra who had hit him had his whip raised to strike again, but a second person held his wrist in strong, painful-looking grip; the two of them held each other’s gazes for a long moment.

The second Galra snatched the whip away, breaking the eye contact, and growled, “You heard the captain. We do nothing to draw attention to ourselves while docked here. That means no. Whips. And no idiotic deck hands! Take this,” he shoved the whip into the other Galra’s face, “and go below deck.”

The first one, the deck hand, scrambled to comply. Lance did his own scrambling, praying his eavesdropping would go unnoticed. Blood oozed down his back from the wound the whip had caused, but Lance ignored it. It wasn’t like there was anything he could do about it.

As they slaves were escorted to the dock and hidden amongst crates and piles of cargo wreckage, Lance realized why they had been unchained. The Galra clearly didn’t want them to be found and the shackles would have made too much noise, clanking and clattering at even the smallest movement they made. Apparently secrecy was worth the risk of them escaping, though that possibility seemed fairly low.

Lance’s heart sank as he looked around at the small cluster of captives standing as far away from him as they could get in the small space between the crates and the roughed up ship. Was this really all of them? There were so few left, much less than he’d estimated earlier; he swallowed hard at the thought of what had happened to the others.

The night was freezing cold and the salty spray of ocean water wasn’t helping any. When his chattering teeth drew angry looks from their guards, Lance stuck his fingers in his mouth to stop them from clacking together. The other slaves were huddled together, but Lance knew better than to approach them. He could feel the enmity rolling off them. He didn’t know who would react harsher, the slaves or the slavers. He was what he was, after all, and the others only knew enough to fear.

Lance tried to keep track of time but it was difficult, hidden in the dark as he was. It was easier to count the number of fearful glances from the other slaves, the shudders wracking his body, or the amount of times questions almost bubbled up to his lips.

The fear and confusion radiating from the group was palpable. Lance wished there was something he could do for them, but he was in the same state. Even if they would let him, he’d have no idea what to say or do. It pained Lance, almost physically, to be so helpless to the suffering of others. Even before his training at the Garrison, it had been his instinct to reach out when someone was hurting. All he could do now was shiver and shudder, the others’ misery lying as heavy on him as his own.

Enough time had passed that Lance was almost acclimated to the cold dampness of the docks. He hadn’t stopped shaking, though, as his bleeding fingers would attest. He startled when the Galra guarding them starting shouting and running towards the ship. The sound of hoofbeats and unfamiliar voices pulled his attention from the commotion above the dock.

“Look over there, by the damaged ship.” The voice was commanding, low and rough, but still somehow pleasant.

The other voices drew closer, and the group of slaves shrank back, unsure, scared, and suspicious. Suddenly, a large pile of debris was pushed aside and they were exposed. Someone let out a shriek before it was muffled.

There was a small group of people standing in front of them. Lance could tell from their armor that they were soldiers of a kind, but he couldn’t understand why they were there. One of them turned and shouted “Captain, I found them!” They all flinched at the sound.

Someone else waved the others back and took a small step forward, hand up as though placating a startled animal—which...wasn’t too far off. The man was tall and broad-shouldered, and that was most Lance could say about him since he kept his helmet on with his face shield down. “I am Lieutenant Thace. We are with the Altean Royal Guard. I swear you are safe now; no more harm will come to you.” The lieutenant’s words were soft and clear. He spoke slowly, annunciation careful and controlled; he obviously had practice dealing with groups of frightened and confused people. Despite the sincerity, Lance was wary and by the looks shared amongst the other prisoners, they were too. Slowly, he could feel the weeks of capture drain him. He tried not to make any movements, though, and kept his head down, afraid to draw any attention to himself.

Thace smiled softly at the skittish group. “Can any of you tell me what happened?” he asked carefully. No one spoke, but it didn’t seem as though Thace had expected them to. He just promised that they were safe again.

Lance lifted his head when he heard more footsteps approaching. His attention was drawn from the other soldier approaching, though, when he noticed the new commotion aboard the slave ship.

The Galra were being escorted in a line off the ship. There were guardsmen in the same livery as Thace surrounding the slavers and more searching the ship. But what made Lance’s heart stutter out its first hopeful rhythm in months was how the Galra’s hands were shackled behind their backs. They were being arrested. Was Lance...were they all actually free? This seemed too elaborate of a ploy to not be real, but Lance still didn’t want to trust it. He knew how easily hope could destroy if you let it. But how could he do anything _but_ hope in a situation like this—watching his captors be shuffled off his prison ship in the same chains he’d spent so long in, someone in front of him promising safety? Lance was helpless to it as hope bubbled up from his battered core.

The others noticed his change in demeanor, and they followed his stare. Excited whispers broke out, were quieted, and broke out again; it was as though they couldn’t contain their excitement, but were still afraid. Lance knew exactly how they were feeling.

He shifted his gaze back to Thace, and the person who had stopped by Thace’s side. Thace had lifted his face shield. His eyes were soft under thick brows and his cheekbones were well defined. His face was framed by sideburns and a goatee. His overall appearance had a rather calming effect on Lance. The others relaxed slightly with him at the sight of their savior’s face.

The newcomer was shorter than Thace by at least half a foot—he seemed downright tiny next to the bulk of the man in armor next to him. His dark, shoulder-length hair was revealed as he took off his helmet. Lance noticed the features of his angular face with an air of disinterest; had he met this man several months ago, he would have found him beautiful. Now, however, Lance had difficulty finding beauty in much of anything. The thought almost made him sad, but the feeling was masked by the wariness tugging at his mind. Thace gave a one handed gesture, a fist over his heart, and said, “Captain, these are the people who were captured as Galra slaves. They are unresponsive to my communications. What would you have us do?”

Keith looked at them contemplatively. Instead of answering his lieutenant, he slowly reached towards Lance. Lance startled back and the stranger—the captain, apparently—stopped.

“My name is Keith,” he said, quiet and soothing. “I’m not going to hurt you. We’re here to help.” He started reaching out again, and Lance didn’t shirk away from the movement this time, though he watched it wearily.

Keith gently grasped Lance’s hand and slowly pulled his fingers from his mouth. Lance hadn’t even realized he’d still been biting them. Lance pulled his hand away from Keith’s, almost reluctantly; this was the first soft touch he’d had in months, and it was surprisingly difficult to let it go.

He looked up and made eye contact with Keith before breaking it quickly. Keith’s eyes were purple, Lance noted absently. He wondered if that was common here.

He looked between Keith and Thace, unsure of what their next move would be. There was a pregnant silence as Thace deferred to his captain and Keith surveyed the rest of the slaves. He seemed to make a decision as his eyes rested back on Lance.

“Can you tell me what your name is?” Keith’s voice was just as soft as it had been earlier, and it compelled him to answer.

“Lance.” It came out in a gravelly croak. He was almost surprised by how rough his voice sounded. It was only to be expected, he supposed. He’d screamed almost more than he'd talked the last six months, and the latter had been limited.

Keith smiled at Lance, soft but encouraging. “Can you tell me if there are any more of you?”

Lance shook his head. “I-I don’t know. There used to be, but….” Keith nodded, seeming to understand Lance’s unfinished sentence.

“Do you have any belongings on the ship?” Keith addressed this question to the entire group, though his eyes lingered on Lance. Lance shook his head and he felt more than saw the rest of the group mimic his action.

Someone else spoke up then, sending a startled jump through the huttled group of slaves. “A-actually, sir, I do.” Lance whipped his head around to the speaker, shocked. How had anyone been able to keep their possessions after being brought aboard?

It was a girl. She couldn’t have been any older than Lance himself. He was pretty sure he recognized her from the last group of slaves that had been brought aboard. She was the only one left on the ship out of them.

She was hunched in on herself, her slim figure trembling in the cold night air. Her blond hair was lank and unkempt, just like the rest of them. It fell in front of her face, effectively masking it from view. Lance could tell she was terrified, but there was also a sense of determination about her.

Keith’s silence prompted the girl to continue. “It was -it was a small carving. O-of a lion? I was able—I had kept it hidden, b-but it fell when we were taken up. It’s still in the s-slave chambers below deck.” She glance fearfully back at the ship.

Keith nodded to one of the soldiers behind him in a silent command to fetch the craft lion for the girl. “Don’t worry, you won’t have to go back on board.” She calmed slightly at that.

Lance shifted his attention back to Keith. He was smiling warmly at the girl, face full of compassion. “Can you tell me your name?” he asked her. She squeaked and didn’t respond. Lance saw Keith nod in understanding. He didn’t push her any further.

They waited while the soldier searched, Keith and Thace sharing a few words that Lance didn’t bother to listen to.

Exhaustion had gripped him then, threatening to pull him into unconsciousness. The night had sapped him of his strength far more than he had expected. He fought the inky blackness that fizzled at the edge of his vision. He was terrified to sleep. If he slept, he was certain he’d wake up to find all of this was just a dream.

He swayed on his feet a little and struggled to keep his footing. Keith noticed immediately. “You’re all probably exhausted,” he said, voice carrying to the others. “We’ve set up a couple tents for you to sleep in tonight. Lieutenant Thace can escort you there now.”

There was a moment where no one moved before Thace straightened up and gestured for the group to follow him. Their movements were slow and disjointed, still wary and uncertain of these newcomers. The tension that had been gripping Lance since they were first unchained began to lessen. Even if this was fake, how much worse could these people be from the Galra?

He began to step forward and follow Thace when his vision blurred. The world tilted on its axis and Lance fell. The last thing he saw was a worried pair of midnight eyes and arms reaching out to catch him before everything went black.


	2. Chapter One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! I am absolutely stunned by the attention this has gotten so far. Thank you so much for everyone who's kudo'd/commented/subscribed. Y'all helped keep this story alive while I fought off some pretty awful writer's block. Also, sorry it took like 17 years to get this posted. But! It's here now, and I hope you enjoy it. Again, shout out to Savy_Hare for beta-ing.

Consciousness returned to Lance slowly, his body fighting being awake as awareness slowly peaked through the bleariness of sleep. He was lying on something soft. He couldn’t figure out why, but that seemed wrong to him.

The low thrum of voices pulled his attention. He couldn’t quite make out what they were saying, but it sounded urgent. Lance tried to shake the last bits of sleep off but it was more difficult than usual. When he heard the words “slave” and “Galra” though, the night’s events came flooding back.

He shot up straight then immediately regretted it as a stabbing pain jolted down his left arm.

The people—Thace and Keith, Lance realized—stopped talking. Thace hurried over to him, telling him to lie back down as he gently guided Lance’s body back to the bed. He took stock of his body while Thace murmured a few more soothing words at him before moving back to stand by Keith. His shoulder seemed to have been readjusted and wrapped into a sling. His wrists and fingers were bandaged up as well. A salve had been applied to his back and he’d been dressed in a loose-fitting shirt that still clung to his sweat-damp form.

He settled into the pillows, noticing how they had been positioned so he was sitting up a bit. He looked around the tent he was in as the other two seemed to have a silent conversation. It was dark, still night outside. The only light came from a few sputtering candles sitting on a desk on the other side of the tent, so Lance couldn’t make out any details, just that it seemed spacious for a guardsman’s tent.

Thace and Keith shared a look before Keith stepped forward. “We have a few questions for you,” he said. “We have sufficient evidence to convict the Galra based on what we’ve already found. However, confessions from their victims could still prove helpful, especially if we need to sway public opinion. None of the others are talking to us.” He offered the last part both as an explanation and a call for help. Keith was betting on Lance talking to them. He’d been the first and one of the only ones to speak earlier, so Keith’s hope wasn’t unreasonable. “Do you think you can give us some answers?”

Lance hesitated then nodded. “I can try.”

Lance felt more than saw Keith and Thace’s relief as the tension relaxed minutely around the two of them.

“How long were you with the Galra?”

Lance thought about it for a moment. “Some of the others have been with the Galra much longer than others. Years, I think. I was one of the last to be taken, and that was in early spring, maybe late winter. There was one more group taken after me, I couldn’t say how much later, though. And most of them...left pretty quickly after they were taken.”

Keith’s jaw tightened as Lance spoke, but he didn’t say anything. Lance wished he could tell them more, but he just didn’t know. No one really talked to him, and when they talked around him, it was never about their old homes or how they’d been sold. It was better to forget than to hold on to painful memories.

None of that helped the tightness of Keith’s voice, clearly trying to restrain his anger. “Can you tell me how many people the Galra sold or traded in the time you were with them?”

“No. Only that there used to be more of us. I never bothered to learn who was there.” Lance was ashamed to admit it, but it was the truth. He never really knew his fellow captors and they never knew him. There was nothing they could have done for each other anyway. Learning names and faces was hard enough when you didn’t know how long you’d know them for. Getting to know the person behind it all was all but unbearable.

“That’s okay,” Thace said. Despite trying to reassure Lance, his voice was almost as tight as Keith’s had been. “I’m sure you did all you could.” Lance wasn’t so sure. _All he could_ had simply been to survive, not a great humanitarian feat.

“What was the normal sort of treatment you would receive?” Keith asked as though Thace hadn’t spoken. His anger hadn’t diminished any.

“Me personally? Or everyone else?”

“Was your treatment different?”

Lance barely held back a grimace. “A bit, yeah.”

He wanted to hit himself. He’d just carelessly singled himself out, and that was the last thing he wanted to do right then, especially with the bridled anger in the air. The months he’d spent in captivity had done little to stay his tongue. It was one of the few things the Galra weren’t able to beat out of him, not for lack of trying. Despite the harsh beatings and harsher whip, Lance never quite managed to shut up.

“How so?” It was the obvious follow-up question, but Lance didn’t have an answer. At least not one he wanted or was able to give.

“I was - my….They tended to punish me more severely.” It was the best he could say.

“And why was that?” Another obvious follow-up. Why couldn’t they just leave it alone?

Lance didn’t answer this time and Keith looked like he wanted to punch something. Lance shied away subconsciously. Keith took a breath and visibly tried to calm himself.

“Can you tell me why the Galra took you?” Keith asked, continuing with his original line of questioning

“My family owed a debt,” was all Lance said.

It wasn’t a lie. Lance’s father had bankrupted himself sending Lance to the Garrison. Not that Lance had known it at the time. He may not have gone if he had. But Healing had always been Lance’s passion and the Garrison was the only place he could learn. Not to mention Daibazaal wasn’t safe for him—the other reason he’d been targeted by the Galra.

Keith was getting frustrated, Lance assumed, by his vague answers; his anger was almost palpable at this point. Thace’s anger was more subdued, but definitely still there. Lance didn’t like it, but he couldn’t say more. Despite the kindness they’d shown, these people were still strangers, and Lance was still afraid. He couldn’t tell them the truth—not all of it at least. He’d been stolen from his home and sold into slavery over this. He wouldn’t, _couldn’t_ , risk it again.

Thace must have sensed the same building tension that Lance did because he took a breath and asked the next question.

“Where were you taken from?”

Lance took a moment to decide if he was going to answer. How much would it give away and how much of a risk would it be for them to know? Would they be able to figure it out? How bad would _that_ be. Slavery was obviously illegal here, but he didn’t know what other sorts of punishments were used.

Lance didn’t like how deliberate and calculating he’d become; he was never like this before the Galra. The fear was something he could live with--something he would _have_ to live with. But the shrewd callousness he’d developed wasn’t. With that thought, he decided. The Galra wouldn’t shape who he was, not anymore. He was done.

“Diabazaal,” Lance said simply but firmly. “I’m not sure about the others.”

Keith and Thace shared another look and Lance felt his resolve waiver. Had he made a mistake? No. He wanted to be free from the Galra’s control and this was the starting point.

“You must be tired,” Thace said. “You should get some more rest. Tomorrow will likely be a long day filled with travel.”

“Do you not have any more questions?”

“We do, but they can wait until the morning.”

He could still feel the residual anger and frustration from their conversation, but there was something else there, too. Lance thought it might have been sadness. Or grief? Before he could figure it out, Thace left, leaving Lance with a vague sense of unease.

He was about to say something when he noticed Keith staring at him. His unease multiplied and the words got stuck in his throat. Keith’s expression was calculating, though otherwise indecipherable. Was it about what he’d said? Being from Diabazaal? How much did Keith know about Lance’s homeland? Altea and Diabazaal had never been friendly nations towards each other, and the animosity had only gotten worse after the Three Land War. Did knowing where Lance was from change Keith’s opinion of him?

“Did you need something?” Lance asked, not entirely managing to keep his nerves from his voice.

His words, or maybe his tone, seemed to shake Keith from his reverie.

“No,” Keith answered after a long pause. The anger had left his voice, if not his posture. “I’ll leave you to rest.” He turned to follow Thace out.

“Wait!” Lance called after him without thinking. Lance mentally cursed his damn mouth for working faster than his brain. It had gotten him in trouble with the Galra and it was bound to get him in trouble here.

Keith turned back around, a clear question in his eyes. He might as well just go for it.

“I-I wanted to ask you a few things, too, if that was okay?” His anxiety twisted his inflection, turning it into an unintentional question at the end. Asking questions had always gotten him the worst bouts with the whip. But there were things he had to know, Galra and their influence on him be damned.

“Oh.” Keith was obviously shocked. Lance hadn’t been very forthcoming, at least not at the end, and Keith was surprised that he’d wanted to say anything more. “Yeah, that’s fine.”

The two of them shared a somewhat awkward silence as Lance gathered his thoughts. There were so many questions swirling in his head. The first being _why are you helping us?_ But asking that seemed rude. It wasn’t that he wasn’t appreciative of what they were doing, he just didn’t understand it. He supposed that there were still good people out there; people who did good and kind things for no other reason than it was right. It was just hard to see that past the abuse he’d suffered from the Galra for the last six months.

“How did you find us?” Lance finally asked.

“We were stopping here to rest and resupply. We heard people swapping rumors about the broken ship on the end of the dock, so we decided to investigate.”

“Where are the others? Are they okay?”

“Everyone is fine,” Keith said.  “Like you, their wounds have been treated and they should heal just fine. They’re in a separate berthing tent together.”

“Why—is there a reason I’m being kept apart from them?”

“After you collapsed, you were taken to be seen and treated separately. We thought that your wounds might have been worse than the others.”

“Were they?” Lance asked, though he was pretty sure of the answer. The months with the Galra couldn’t erase the years of training with the Garrison.

“No. You should heal quickly, just like the others.”

Lance could tell there was more that Keith hadn’t said. Like with his wounds, he could guess what it was.

“There’s something else, isn’t there?”

Keith nodded but was slow to answer. “The others seemed anxious around you.”

“They didn’t want me near them,” Lance surmised.

“Yes,” Keith said bluntly.

Lance could tell he wanted to ask why, and was grateful when he didn’t.

“What happens now that we’re free? We are free right? You said we were safe, but are we really? How can you guarantee that? Are we staying here in Altea, or going back to where we’re from? What if it isn’t safe for us to go back? What if we don’t want to?” The questions followed one after the other with Lance unable to stop them. It was as if a dam had broken and from it a wave of all Lance’s anxieties burst forth. He couldn’t even bring himself to feel self-conscious about it, too desperate for the answers.

Keith seemed surprised by the sudden barrage of questions after Lance’s relative silence. “You really are free. And safe. We’ve arrested all of the slavers from the ship. Slavery is illegal here, punishable by death. Very few crimes warrant such a steep penalty, but there is no tolerance for such a heinous act. King Alfor is adamant on that.” Keith’s tone suggested that he agreed with the king. Lance did, too. “They will be tried for their crimes and when they are found guilty,” there was a slight emphasis on _when_ , “they will be hanged. They won’t be able to hurt you, or anyone else ever again.”

There was a fire behind Keith’s eyes, a mix of passion and righteous anger. Lance relaxed significantly, both at the words and Keith’s conviction. It was really over. The relief that washed over him was unfamiliar and made tears prick at his eyes, though he refused to let them fall. He might be safe, but he still couldn’t show weakness.

“As for your other questions,” Keith continued, “it’s hard to say. Without anyone talking to us, we can’t know where they’re from. We would be willing to send a portion of the Guard to escort people back to their homelands, if they so choose. If that is not feasible, as I think it might be for a number of you, there is always work to be done in the palace. You’d be paid, as servants. Only if you’d want, of course. Otherwise, you’d be more than welcome to live in Altea amongst the people.”

Lance nodded and looked away. He knew his old life was behind him and as much as that hurt, he just wanted to be able to move on. Start again and forget the horror that he’d just lived through.

“Was there anything else you’d wanted to ask?”

There was something in Keith’s voice that Lance couldn’t quite place. Like there was a question and a secret rolled up in the words, and Lance didn’t have the means to unravel it. He wanted to, he realized. He wanted to unravel and piece together the mystery; he wanted to learn all there was to this new man—this new land, new everything. He wanted to assuage his curiosity and revel in the answers that had been withheld from him these last months. With a jolt of emotion, Lance realized that he might be able to now.

Lance looked back to Keith and saw a new, though equally calculating expression on his face. It was though his tone had taken life and nestled itself onto Keith’s visage. There was a question that hid a secret. Except Keith didn’t know this secret either. He was trying to get to it through Lance, like Lance had the answers they both needed.

All Lance could do was shake his head. Keith nodded and left Lance to his thoughts.

It was a while before he fell back asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's a bit shorter than I had hoped, but it's (finally) posted. Please let me know what you think!

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to yell at me on tumblr @consolationblog


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